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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26180356">NO SMALL SACRIFICE (or, The Many Loves of Lavender)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkeneko/pseuds/Mikkeneko'>Mikkeneko</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bard Jester, Curses, Gen, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Sorcerer Caleb, Witcher AU, Witcher Molly, canon-typical sex work, featuring:</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:47:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,640</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26180356</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkeneko/pseuds/Mikkeneko</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A bard and a Witcher make an unconventional friendship, but neither the Viper Witcher Mollymauk Tealeaf nor the famed trobairitz Jester Lavorre care much about conventions. But when a terrible curse threatens Molly's life, Jester must go to another old friend for help: the reclusive sorcerer Caleb Widogast.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jester Lavorre &amp; Caleb Widogast, Jester Lavorre &amp; Mollymauk Tealeaf, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>136</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatKing_Catkin/gifts">CatKing_Catkin</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written as a birthday gift for hickumu who requested a Witcher AU with Bard Jester, Witcher Molly and Sorcerer Caleb. I threw in Widomauk and Molly Whump as a given, considering the recipient!</p><p>Chapter warnings: Contains a scene set in a brothel. Characters use canon-typical, but old-fashioned and terms for the workers there, but are positive and respectful in their behavior. An unnamed character offscreen has been stalking one of the workers and aims an act of violence at her, but it does not connect.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It was growing dark by the time Jester made it into the tavern, the wind picking up as it nipped around her ankles and snatched tufts of her hair. She got only a glimpse at the sign hanging outside -- a drawing of a padlock and two keys on a ring, which at least reassured her she'd found the right place -- before she pushed her way inside. With the growing dark and rising storm, she'd have to take shelter soon even if this</span>
  <em>
    <span> wasn't</span>
  </em>
  <span>  the inn they'd agreed on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was! The thump of the door closing behind her drew every eye in the tavern to her and Jester basked in it, primping a bit as she adjusted her hair and clothes into place after being disheveled by the wind. She drew the eye and she knew it -- had gone to considerable trouble to put together the loudest outfit she could find, a deep rose blouse and violet cap over a split skirt with alternating red and gold-cloth panels, all of which made a glowing contrast to her blue skin. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant</span>
  </em>
  <span>  to make a splash, to stand out in the crowd with a shout of color; after all, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>trobairitz </span>
  </em>
  <span>had to be a walking advertisement of her trade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She let the case of her viol swing around in front of her as she made her way to the nearest open table, setting the instrument down on the wooden planks with exquisite care. Half a dozen rough-looking fellows clustered around the fireplace were watching her, she knew, and one or two of them were already starting to get up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second thing that </span>
  <em>
    <span>clacked</span>
  </em>
  <span>  onto the table was her graven metal symbol of the Traveler, and that gave the roughs a moment of pause. The Traveler wasn't a very well-followed deity on the Continent -- though Jester was doing her best to change that! -- but he was known far and wide by reputation, by the rumors and whispers of the gruesome fates that would befall any who dared to harm one under the Traveler's protection. (Jester should know -- she was the one who'd started half the rumor, after all.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the </span>
  <em>
    <span>third</span>
  </em>
  <span>  thing that landed on the table with a heavy </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump</span>
  </em>
  <span>  was Jester's double-headed traveling axe, its shape unmistakeable even under the flowery embroidered cover that protected the blade from the elements, and the rough-looking men sat carefully down again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester grinned to herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tired-looking woman with her hair tied back in a kerchief came around the bar and over to Jester's table. "What'll you have..." her eyes flickered over Jester's costume and viol case, and she settled on, "...milady?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester beamed up at her, her chin resting on her hands as her tail flicked happily behind her. "Just Jester is fine, please," she said. "And I'll have a glass of milk, some meat rolls, and a bowl of nuts -- oh, and apple juice would be great if you have it, or any other kind of juice."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We don't have juice right now, but we could do you a mug of buttermilk from today's churning," the woman -- the owner, Jester guessed by her age and tiredness -- allowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And a plate of the same again for my friend, when he gets here," Jester finished. The two of them fell into a friendly, but firm exchange over payment; while the innkeeper wasn't willing to offer coin for music, she'd permit Jester to play and keep any tips she made from the other patrons, and her food for the night would be on the house. It was clear the innkeep wasn't expecting any other travelers to arrive that night, what with the worsening weather and late hour, or she might have contested that point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While she waited for her food to arrive Jester opened her case and took out her viol, tuning for a few minutes to catch the attention of the crowd before she launched into a jaunty piece. She'd start with her own adaptation of well-known, popular jigs -- she wouldn't break out the original pieces until the crowd had softened some.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a tough crowd. Mix of narrow-minded locals and broadly-moral travelers, the type who wouldn't stint to take coin wherever it was offered -- or even when it wasn't. And they were mostly human, of course, and there was always some amount of prejudice against nonhumans in these parts, Tieflings more than most.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tough crowd -- but she'd played to tougher. A bard's job was to set the mood, to infect the crowd with her energy, to lead people out of hatred and venality and into merriment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester was </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> at her job.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Within half an hour she had the crowd eating out of the palm of her hand -- hands clapping to keep the beat as she sang up and down the scale, toes tapping along with the rhythm as she danced nimbly up and down the table. Coins leapt from the patron's pouches towards her and Jester made sure to do a little trick with each one before it disappeared into her own; bright shining discs rolling down one arm and up the other, dancing between her fingers, disappearing to appear behind an astonished man's ear. Always make people happy to give you their money, that was the first thing Jester had learned on her tour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now she had them just where she wanted them; all eyes on her, a whirling vortex of song and happiness and attention flowing towards her as she stood on the center table and played her viol. The wind outside howled a counterpoint to half a dozen voices bawling along to the well-known chorus as her sweet soprano wove the melody of the verses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Oh! do not stand so long outside,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> (Jester sang,)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Why need you be so shy?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The people's ears are open, man,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As they are passing by;</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You cannot tell what they may think,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They've said strange things before;</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And if you wish to talk a while,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Come in and shut the door!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Come in, come in, come in, come in, come in --"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The wind rose to a fever pitch; there came a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bang</span>
  </em>
  <span>  on the front door that had everyone jump, a deep percussive note to add to the swirl of melody. A dozen pairs of eyes turned towards the door as it shuddered open, and standing silhouetted in the portal against the darkness was a tall, lean, deadly silhouette. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In truth he wasn't much taller than any other man in the crowd, yet there was something about him that made his presence loom -- perhaps the sharp curl of the horns, just visible beyond the edges of the hood. Dark-stained leather armor lent bulk to his shoulders; the seams and buckles had been sewn about with fluttering ribbons of bright red and purple, yet somehow they managed to emphasize the lines of menace and power without softening them. Over each shoulder jutted the hilt to a pair of swords, curved and gleaming: one steel, one silver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From one claw-tipped hand, up over his wrist and around his arm until it vanished under the cuff of his armor, wound an intricate tattoo of a dark-green serpent. The scaled edges of it could be seen in flashes around his collar, winding up his neck, crowned with one glowing red eye gleaming baleful from the shadows under his hood. The shape was echoed by the twist of silver around the edge of the silver medallion nestled against his chest: a deadly viper, mouth open to display gleaming fangs, coiled to strike.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come in!" Jester sang, as her bow swooped and her skirts swirled. "Come in, good man, come in, come in, come in and shut the door!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She finished the song with a flourish and ran down the length of the table towards the newcomer, kicking off it with a flying leap to land laughing in the stranger's arms. "Mollymauk!" she cheered, as he caught her effortlessly and spun her around, his elbows supporting her knees as her booted heels stuck out on either side. "You came!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stranger laughed, fangs flashing as he tossed his head back. "Of course I came, my dear," he purred back. "I promised I would meet you, didn't I? A Witcher's word is his bond."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He set her back gently on her feet as Jester beamed up at him, awash with happiness at the reunion. Jester loved being a bard, she loved being on tour, she loved </span>
  <em>
    <span>people,</span>
  </em>
  <span>  but there was nothing at all like being in the company of another like you, when there were so few of them left. She ignored the room full of gawking patrons and hugged Mollymauk enthusiastically, let their tails entwine in an embrace that made the world feel so much less lonely. His wicked smile softened, his slit-pupiled eyes went open and gentle, and he lowered his head so that his horns could bump against hers in that greeting that only a fellow tiefling could know. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Brother. My brother.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"I got you dinner!" she said as they came up for air at last, disentangling their tails at least enough to move. She spun back towards the tavern room, dragging Molly enthusiastically towards the table. "It's pretty good! Well, the bread and beer are pretty good, don't bother with the ham, it tastes of despair. Sit, sit and eat, put your feet up, I've got a few more songs to play to finish out my set and then I'm all yours!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly took her at her word, settling down in Jester's empty place and then leaning the chair back on its legs, swinging his feet up to prop against the table. The raised edges of his heels caught at the sharp wooden edge and held him steady, a strangely comforting feeling after the last few days of stumbling through soft swamps fighting hags and foglets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Jester finished her set Molly raided the last scraps of meat and bread off her plate to quiet his grumbling stomach, then looked around for a way to order more. The barmaid -- barmatron, he corrected himself on closer inspection -- came over to his table; she put on a stoic face (lots of practice?) but he could see the way her wrists and elbows trembled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly caught her eye, then moved his hand in a quick sure pattern in the air in front of him, shielded from sight of the other patrons by his body and the bulk of the table. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"No need to be wary of me, mother,"</span>
  </em>
  <span>  he assured her as the magic flowed through the air to settle on her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"Just treat me like you would any other honored guest."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her face went slack as the magic took hold, and she nodded slowly as she collected the empty plates. "No need to worry," she repeated, half-hypnotized. "An honored guest."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll have another plate of rolls, and whatever you recommend from the tap," Molly said, resuming his normal tone of voice. The matron nodded and moved off, still slow and stumbling. His enchantment would stick, he knew, and when it wore off she wouldn't even remember that he'd done anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester slid into the chair catty-corner from him, her nose wrinkling slightly as she watched the woman go. "Mollymauk, did you do your creepy Witcher magic thing again?" she said, although at least she had the good sense to keep her volume low as she said it. "You sure do use that spell a lot, huh?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly shrugged. "Not all of us can be famous Continent-renowned bards of fabulous reputation, I'm afraid," he said, which made her giggle. He lowered his voice. "Would you rather have her be terrified of me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester tossed her head, sending her dark curls flying. "I'd </span>
  <em>
    <span>rather</span>
  </em>
  <span>  that people weren't scared of you 'cause they know you aren't scary!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span>  scary," Molly argued back. Strange; of all the people on the continent, Jester was probably the only one he could say such a thing to and not feel a dull twinge of pain in his stomach as he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ahhh, you? You're a kitten," Jester scoffed. "And everyone should know it! Hold on, Molly, I'm going to play the song!" She started to get up from her chair, obviously angling to climb on top of the table again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly winced. "Maybe this isn't the best audience?" he rushed to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That song. That </span>
  <em>
    <span>damned song.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Molly had never loved and hated something so simultaneously in his long, grim life as a Witcher. Jester wrote it, of course -- her first gift to commemorate their friendship. They'd been drinking (well, Molly had been drinking, Jester had been nursing a cider) while Molly told her stories. Stories of his travels, his adventures, his trials and triumphs, and -- not incidentally -- his past love affairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester had been inspired, filled with a fire of composition. She struck up a new tune on the spot, and by the end of the night had already turned out several verses. Molly, more than a little drunk off White Gull, had cheered and applauded her ingenuity and creative spirit. He'd thought it was the nice thing to do, to encourage budding creatives. He hadn't counted on the song being </span>
  <em>
    <span>that damn catchy.  </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Many Loves of Lavender</span>
  </em>
  <span>  -- that was Jester's idea of clever wordplay, 'love' and 'lave' -- had become an overnight hit across half the Continent. It was a distinctly mixed blessing. On one hand, it was extremely embarrassing to sit through a musical rendition of your exploits even once, let alone a dozen times. On the other hand, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span>  worked to do what Jester wanted it to -- improved Molly's reputation, made him more approachable and less frightening to the general populace. It appealed to the ladies and impressed the men -- Molly was well aware of the double-standard inherent there, that a man behaving this way was considered a player where a woman would be considered a slut. But as a tiefling Witcher, he couldn't be choosy about traits that would improve his standing in the public's eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, to be frank, it had gotten him laid. A lot. Which only exacerbated the problem really, because those stories inevitably had a way of making their way back to Jester, and then she'd write another verse, and, well. A self-perpetuating problem, which might solve itself if Molly could only muster up a bit of self-restraint, but where was the fun in that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aw, but why not?" Jester pouted. "It's nothing to be ashamed of!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not ashamed," Molly said. Which was true, for the most part. Molly made a consistent effort to live his life shame-free. And if he wasn't going to feel shame about the hard and often bloody work he had to do for his day job, he certainly wasn't going to feel shame about the much-less harmful fun he had off the clock. "But there's a -- there's a significant space between being ashamed of my past flings and wanting to hear them sung about all over the Continent."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester let out a gusty sigh. "I'm just so jealous," she announced. "You meet so </span>
  <em>
    <span>many</span>
  </em>
  <span> interesting people, Molly! And then have sex with them."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I travel a lot," Molly said. "And Witchers live long lives. That's all. You're bound to meet a lot of people in my line of work."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I travel a lot too," Jester said. "But </span>
  <em>
    <span>I've </span>
  </em>
  <span>never had a love affair with a succubus! Or a pirate. Who was also a siren. Or a duke who was also a vampire. Or, ooh! What about that one time with that ethereally beautiful hermit who lived in a graveyard? I've been to lots of graveyards and I've never met one of those!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That was a one-off," Molly said. "Most graveyards definitely do not have ethereally beautiful hermits, no." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester finally gave up on climbing onto the table, flopping back onto her seat. "I want to meet interesting people too," she announced. "But not the people in this bar. These people are boring and no fun."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well," Molly said, not really able to dispute that, "we could always go find interesting people somewhere else. I hear that there's a pretty good brothel in this town."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester perked up immediately, bouncing back up in her chair. "Yay brothels!" she cheered, and that was that.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester really liked brothels! Mostly. They reminded her of the place she'd grown up, the grand house in Novigrad where her mother and her ladies held court. And they were good to perform at, too; unlike most people they didn't pretend they were doing you a favor when they let you play there. Whores tended to be a much more respectful audience than Jester's usual crowd. Not always </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice,</span>
  </em>
  <span> necessarily -- she'd collected her share of scoffs and sneers and rude reviews from prostitutes, over the years -- but she'd never, in a brothel, had to brain anyone with an axe for putting hands on her when they wouldn't listen to </span>
  <em>
    <span>no.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Plus she could sing all the songs with dicks in them (which, for Jester, was most of them) and nobody would complain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The workers at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nightingale</span>
  </em>
  <span> were very nice and Jester's evening was going splendidly; she was taking a break from performing on the stage to sit and snack on cookies while chatting with a few of the ladies. In a little bit the restless energy would rise in her again and she'd run off to pick up her viol and play again, but for now she was resting her throat and enjoying the company.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly was enjoying the company, too, and that truly delighted Jester. When she'd first met him </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>was afraid of him, his wicked swords and frightful appearance and fearful reputation. Whores had been especially afraid of him, always feeling the edge of being the most disposable members of any community when men went dangerous, always among the first targets. He'd almost never spent time in brothels even though he loved sex, because, as he told her, he couldn't bring himself to sleep with someone who was terrified of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, she'd fixed that! </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Many Loves of Lavender</span>
  </em>
  <span>   had changed that </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span>  around. Now ladies sighed dreamily when he sauntered by instead of shrinking into doorways to get away from him. Now Molly had three pretty ladies clustered around him, filled with curiosity and intrigue, and Jester could be </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span>  that her friend was having as much fun here tonight as </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span>  was.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only problem with the song was... Well, it was getting a little stale, and adding a new verse always picked up its popularity again. All that was needed was for Molly to fall into bed with someone really interesting! And try as she might, she couldn't really see how sleeping with a prostitute would qualify for that. Sure, she could just make something up, but Molly got pretty upset the last time she'd done that, and she'd had to strike the verse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester kept an eye on him even as she chattered with her new friends: Margalotta, who had a wooden leg and absolutely magnificent tits, and a pretty Zerrikanian lady whose name she was still trying and failing to pronounce. She still kind of hoped that something would turn up that she'd be able to write a new verse of her song. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For Molly himself, it was not so much that he was really </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>  obsessed with sex -- regardless of how the song portrayed him. It was more that he was aware that as a Witcher, he was going to live a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span>  long time, and have to spend most of that time in situations that ranged from uncomfortable to excruciating. The Path was hard and painful, the distrust and prejudice he faced in most human communities miserable.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For as long as Molly could remember, he'd been the only one of his kind. He couldn't remember his parents, his family before he'd been left at Gorthur Gvaed to become a Witcher. And while the other Witchers there accepted him as a comrade-in-arms, all brothers under the Sign of the Viper... there had been no other tieflings who'd survived the Trials.  It was lonely enough being a Witcher among humans; lonelier still when you'd never been a human to start. It was just another thing that set him apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester had changed all that. She'd welcomed him into her heart as a brother in truth, teased and joked and wormed her way past his defensiveness, fumed indignantly at the way he was treated by humans and sworn a bardic oath to redeem his reputation. He'd known Jester for almost ten years now and had never taken a moment of it for granted. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>More than anything else, Jester had taught him to love life again, how to find and seize pleasure in the moment. Good food, strong drink, interesting drugs -- there was a new kind in every city, and Molly was ready to try them all! Pleasant company, stories and song -- Jester always kept him well supplied with all three. And sex? Especially sex with experienced professionals? As far as Molly was concerned, there was literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>  down side. Why worry about tomorrow when tonight promised to be so pleasurable?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was in the middle of negotiations with Tisha, Ynez, and Katya to determine what configuration of the three would be the best ratio of bang for his buck when a commotion from over by the stairs caught his attention. Molly's ears were well-attuned to the sound of strife and he was picking it up now -- voices raised in confusion, anger, fear. As if that weren't enough, his medallion rattled sharply against his breastbone for a moment -- assuring his attention -- before it fell into a low, steady thrum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Magic, here? Magic </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span>  upset voices.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crap. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Molly groaned as he sat up, extricating himself from Tisha's hands. "Pardon me, my dear," he said. "I'd like to just sort out whatever this is, before it becomes a bigger problem --"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hurried over and intercepted the tangle of women as they came around the corner into the common room. He recognized the madame, Agnes, accompanied by two women whose names he didn't know; one a busty blonde, the other a whippet-thin redhead. The redhead was carrying a box in her hands, holding it as far away from her body as possible, and all three women looked at it as though it were a load of fiend dung.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which, going by the smell that was emanating off the package, might actually be the case. "What's going on?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde woman looked up, saw him, and gasped; Agnes put a reassuring hand over her shoulder as she turned to reply. "We received this package just now, out by the back entrance," she said. "No one saw who left it and there's no sender written on it. But it was addressed to Kasia."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was evidently the blonde girl, who seemed near tears with distress. Molly narrowed his eyes at the unsavory package. He'd thought at first that the redhead's hands were shaking, but no, her arms were rock-steady; it was the package itself that was wobbling in her hands. "Do you have reason to think it might be something dangerous?" Because Molly sure as fuck did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The --" After a hesitation, the madame grimaced and edited whatever she'd been about to say. "It would not be the first time one of our girls has been targeted so. Kasia had a... certain client, with whom relations had gone downhill recently. We had to ban him from the premises, and she's been sleeping here for the past week. It could be from him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And you brought it </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside?"</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Molly demanded. His medallion gave another short rattle, almost painful in how it drummed against his skin, as the box's... thrashing, increased in intensity. Instinctively Molly went to draw his sword, even as he snapped, "Drop it! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now!"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The redhead flung her arms out and jumped back, sending the thing skidding across the floor away from them. They had the attention of the entire room by now, but Molly didn't dare take his eyes off the malignant package. "Everybody back!" he snapped, giving his voice enough power to reach every corner of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Molly!" Jester was at his elbow, of course; Molly flung out an arm at chest-height to keep her back. She peered over his shoulder in apparent fascination, but at least had the sense not to try to approach it any further. "What is it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dangerous. Maybe alive. I don't know..." Molly trailed off. The package's movements had reached a thrashing frenzy, actually moving a few inches across the room with each jerk. Back towards Kasia, he noticed. Molly took a small step forward and stretched out the point of his silver sword, trying to pin the package in place. The moment the sharp edge touched the box's surface, it split apart with an unholy ripping sound, and darkness poured out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly had not been caught completely flat-footed, and was able to throw down </span>
  <em>
    <span>yrden</span>
  </em>
  <span>  just in time; a violet circle sprang into existence around the thing and the clouds of black smoke ran up against the boundaries of the ward and coiled up against them. In the room all around them female voices shrieked and cried out in terror and outrage, and there was a general scramble to vacate the room. Which Molly could only approve of except that Jester, the redheaded girl, and Agnes all stayed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Black smoke was still pouring out of the now-crumpled box, swirling in furious agitation against the glowing lines of the Sign. It seemed to Molly that they formed a face, black pits of eyes against a shifting grey background -- was it a djinn? A hym? Some sort of specter? Whatever it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>yrden</span>
  </em>
  <span>  seemed to contain it, and that meant that silver ought to dispatch it...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lines of the ward flickered and Molly, making up his mind, lunged forward and brought his silver blade down in a whistling overhead strike. The silver edge scythed through the black smoke, disrupting its edges and sending it scattering, but --</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Molly realized a moment too late that to strike at the thing, he'd stepped forward across the edge of the Sign. His foot, his arm, part of his face was behind the barrier with it. And that was all the chance it needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pain exploded through Molly's skull, and the world went black.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl behind Madame Agnes screamed as Molly fell to the floor, limbs seizing, and for a moment Jester felt like screaming too. The purple lines of Molly's magic sign flickered and went out, but the black smoke that had fumed and writhed behind it was gone -- gone into </span>
  <em>
    <span>Molly.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Those familiar eyes, golden and slit-pupiled, had been replaced by an eerie red glow. Wisps of smoke writhed around the edges of his eyes, poured from his nose, from his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"By the Goddess!" Agnes said, voice shaking as she made a warding motion in the air. "What is this foul sorcery? Is -- is he dead?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No!" Jester snapped, kneeling beside him. All her attempts to rouse him failed -- she couldn't even get him to stay still. One flailing arm clipped her on the cheek, and it hurt in a way she knew meant a bruise later, but she ignored it. "Witchers are resistant to magic. This would have killed anyone else, but he's still alive!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still alive, but -- he wasn't snapping out of it. Whatever the curse was doing to him, it didn't look like it was going to stop on its own. And Molly couldn't talk, couldn't tell her what to do -- even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>  know what to do. This wasn't a monster, it was magic. And Jester didn't know what to do about magic. If she didn't think of something quickly, Molly was going to...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They were only a few hours' ride from Yspaden. If she could get Molly there --</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She whirled on Agnes. "Can you get me a horse?" she demanded. "Like, a really fast one? We need to get to Yspaden, right away!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I --" Agnes said, faltering as she stared at the stricken witcher on her floor, the blackened patch of carpet beyond. The whole room stank of burned fiber and something nastier. "This is --"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This spell would have killed Kasia!" Jester interrupted her. "It almost killed him! He saved her life, or the life of whoever would have opened that box. You owe us!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I -- yes, of course, you can have a horse," Agnes stumbled. "You can have anything you want, anything you need... but can he ride?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester looked down at Molly. He was spasming less but that only meant he was running out of strength, the seizing turning into muted twitches running up and down his legs. He was in no shape to walk, or ride, anywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll hold him on the horse," she said. "I can do it. I'm strong. Stronger than I look!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was a brag, maybe; or maybe it was a prayer. But it was the only hope she had of saving her best friend's life, so it would have to be true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Within a quarter of an hour at the front of the brothel Jester had herself, Mollymauk, and one bag up on the back of a horse, a big black-maned beauty; it stamped and steamed as though eager to run. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Jester had to maneuver the reins around Molly's body slumped in the saddle in front of her, since he couldn't hold on from behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Go, quickly, go!" she shouted, and the horse sprang into motion along the street, racing for life against death.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jester had never thanked the gods so soundly as that night, that she had eyes to see clearly even under a new moon and a thin overcast that dimmed the stars. She saw the road painted ahead of her in shades of gray, though at the speed the horse was plunging ahead there was little she could do to avoid an obstacle if it did suddenly loom up in the road ahead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They met no one on the road; maybe the night was too dark for the eyes of robbers and bandits, too. Maybe the creatures of the night could smell Molly's Witcherness, his silver, from a hundred yards and knew to shy away. Maybe the combination of the three of them riding down the road, hell-bent -- two devil-men atop a blowing black horse, seething with evil magic, riding at midnight under a moonless sky -- kept away all manner of holy and unholy things. Or maybe they just went too fast for any trouble to catch them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had to drop to a walk several times over the course of the ride so that the poor horse didn't collapse under them; she tried to encourage it with little chirps and little snatches of song. To keep up the horse's spirit, of course, not her own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was hard to tell if Molly was getting worse, but he definitely wasn't getting better. The whole length of the ride Jester still hoped that he would stir in her arms, sit up and look around and exclaim at finding himself so transported. But he didn't move for the whole ride except to twitch and spasm against her, and every movement was so tortured that she almost wished him still and quiet instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, no, not still and quiet, not Molly. He was a Witcher, he was supposed to live forever. He was supposed to keep on living and having adventures, never aging, never changing, long after Jester retired to the countryside. Not be struck down by some vile curse in a brothel of all places, trying to defend innocent women against a horrid man whose face he'd never even seen. It wasn't dramatic enough for Molly, it wasn't grand enough to be the right death for him. It wasn't right. It wasn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester sang little bits from of </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Many Loves of Lavender</span>
  </em>
  <span>  as they rode, bars of song snatched away by the speed of their passage along with her tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even in the grey-and-black of the darkened landscape Jester was able to keep her bearings, pull the horse left down the correct fork and then tug them abruptly to the side onto a narrow farm track. She directed the horse, slower now and heaving for breath, along an overgrown road for almost a mile before a ruined pile of stone loomed overhead. Finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>  she was able to rein the horse back, unstick her shoes from the stirrups, and get down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her legs burned like fire from the hard ride, the muscles of her chest and stomach screamed from the effort of holding her weight and Molly's upright in the saddle and her arms... she could barely feel her arms. Or her face, completely numb even though the night air wasn't even all that cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She half-dragged, half-carried Molly over to the ruined tower, letting the horse fend for itself. There was a patch of ivy growing over the rock face that she ripped away impatiently, clearing the debris away from a peculiar, flat metal grate set into the wall. Jester pounded at the grate as hard as she could, making it rattle in the wall, and shouted. "Caleb! Are you there? Wake up! Caleb?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took an endless, agonizing minute before the grate crackled in response, static overlaying the sound of an indrawn breath. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"Blauberre?"</span>
  </em>
  <span>  the voice said from the grate, blurred with sleep and Caleb's thick Vattweir accent. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Was ist...</span>
  </em>
  <span>  do you know what </span>
  <em>
    <span>time </span>
  </em>
  <span>it is, blueberry? Is this another one of your little jokes?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Caleb!" Jester nearly collapsed with relief right there on the lintel. "Oh, thank the Traveler you're there, you're awake. Please, please help me, my friend, he's been cursed, he's </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I don't know what to do --"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long pause and then, from beyond the archway and down the spiral stairs to the left, Jester heard a roar. Not like an animal, more like a blacksmith's forge being roused by the bellows, but the light that floated up from the stairwell beyond was an eerie flickering green. "Come in right away," Caleb's voice came from the grate, crisper now. "Bring your friend. I will help however I can."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The surge of relief nearly turned Jester's bones to jelly, but she managed to push herself up from the wall and stagger over to where Molly slumped, still twitching faintly, against the wall. She got him belly-down over her shoulder and staggered upright, and carried her friend the last few steps through the archway. Down half a turn of stairs -- at least she didn't have to climb </span>
  <em>
    <span>up</span>
  </em>
  <span>  them -- and into a green-black archway of light.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>~tbc...</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Getting long enough that I decided to split it into two chapters -- second one will go up tomorrow.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jester brings Mollymauk to her sorcerer friend, Caleb Widogast, to break the curse. But it turns out that Caleb and Molly may not have been strangers to each other as much as Jester believed.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>When Jester emerged blinking and gawking into the room beyond the portal -- far too spacious a room to have fit inside that crumbling tower -- Caleb was already up and dressed, pulling things off shelves in preparation. Jester wondered if he'd actually gone to bed at all, or just fallen asleep over his books again. He had on a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and his hair was escaping in messy tufts from its ponytail, and Jester might have thought he looked absolutely adorable like that if she were not currently consumed with worry for Mollymauk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb looked briefly over his shoulder at her, then nodded towards a gleaming circle of marble set into the floor. "Put your friend there, I'll need to stabilize him," he said. Jester nodded, too breathless to speak, and stepped forward to lay Molly out. Caleb set an armful of bottles down on the newly cleared workbench, turned around, and went still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Blueberry," he said in a slightly strangled voice, "What did you say this man's name was?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's Molly?" Jester didn't mean for that uncertain tone to enter her voice, but Caleb's manner was too strange. "Mollymauk Tealeaf. Why? What does it mean?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb shook his head. "An albatross," he murmured under his breath, "the sailor's dire warning, the penitent's curse. How fitting."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?" </span>
  </em>
  <span> Jester demanded, sharper, but Caleb shook his head and didn't answer. A cold sinking hand seemed to squeeze at her chest. She grabbed Caleb's shoulder and shook him, once. "Are -- are you going to help him? You have to help him!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed like her shaking broke him out of a daze; he met her eyes, and the icy blue in his eyes seemed to soften. "I will help him," he said. "I can do this, at least."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She let go of him and stepped back. Caleb stretched out a hand towards the table and began to chant, words that meant nothing to her but crackled in her ears with power. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"Daliant, daliant, dalliannau,"</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Caleb muttered, and all at once Molly's twitching froze, still as the stone he lay on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What happened? Precisely," Caleb asked her, even as he turned back to his preparations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester forced her eyes away from Molly; while it was good to see his face relax from the awful rictus of the spell, the stillness was frightening in its own way. She looked at Caleb instead, taking comfort in her friend's brisk and businesslike manner. "We... we were just having a good time at the Nightingale..." Jester began, and haltingly described the whole incident. The songs, the drinks, the sudden commotion at the door; the evil package, and how Molly had triggered the trap by accident.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Todesfluch,"</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Caleb muttered grimly. "Probably, </span>
  <em>
    <span>todeskuss. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cruel, brutal magic. Without question, your friend's action saved that girl's life. It's a miracle that he survived long enough for you to bring him here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, he's a Witcher," Jester had to explain. "He's tough. Spells don't work the same on them as on everyone else, you know."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb nearly fumbled a glass beaker; Jester might not have noticed if she hadn't been watching his hands closely. "I know that well," he said. "But even a Witcher can fall to magics dark enough."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anxiety rose up in Jester's throat again. "Caleb, Caleb, can you help him?" she nearly begged. "Please say you can help Mollymauk, you are the smartest wizard I know, please!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb turned to her, placed a too-warm hand over the back of hers, clenched into fists in the fabric of her skirt. "Genevive, do not fear," he told her softly, and there were only a handful of people on the Continent who still got to call her </span>
  <em>
    <span>Genevive.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  "I will help your friend. This Mollymauk. If he survived long enough to get here, he is very strong. Strong enough to pull through."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He set a stick of charcoal in a long holder and used it to draw a circle on the floor around Molly, inscribing a few symbols that reminded Jester of Molly's trap-signs. He also chalked a symbol on the back of each of Molly's hands and, to her surprise, his own forehead. Throughout all of this Caleb was careful not to touch Molly directly, or allow any part of his skin or clothing to brush up against him. From a small, ornate box Caleb drew something pale and round -- like a coin, but twice as large -- and placed it in his mouth. Only then did he approach Mollymauk, going to his knees at the edge of the marble circle.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Ailddechrau</span>
  </em>
  <span>," he murmured, and the shimmering shell of magic that stretched around Molly snapped off. Time seemed to start again, horribly so, as Molly's body twitched and jerked in terrible contorted spasms on the marble slab. Caleb murmured a word that made light spring up around his hands, cool soothing blue-white; then he took a deep breath, leaned over Mollymauk, and pressed his lips firmly against the Witcher's. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly's world was darkness. Shadow wrapped around him, heavy as iron bands, weighing down his lungs and restricting his limbs. He couldn't break them no matter how he strained and thrashed; every struggle only drew them tighter about him. They blocked out sky, light, air, nothing left but </span>
  <em>
    <span>dark</span>
  </em>
  <span>  closing in around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His body fought back. He could feel it in every tissue, every cell as the mutagens flared to life, provoked by this unnatural attack. His blood grew hot, hotter, </span>
  <em>
    <span>burned</span>
  </em>
  <span>  like molten iron flowing through his veins, surging against the force that held him. The darkness did not break, crushed down twice as hard in punishment. He was trapped between fire and iron, burning and suffocating and drowned in molten metal and he could not even scream, lungs boiling to steam inside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then something touched him. Something cool, gentle and yet immeasurably strong. Touched him, held him, took him up, and for the first time since his deadly misstep light came back into his world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was on his back in a strange place, staring up at the shadowed vaulting of an unfamiliar ceiling. Not that he could see much of the ceiling; another body blocked his view, a ragged silhouette against dim backlight. He recognized the hands on him, pressing his shoulders down against the stone; a pair of strong thighs, slotted between his own, and... lips, pressed firmly against his.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, that's a hell of a thing to wake up to,</span>
  </em>
  <span>  he thought, but could not say; he could not force his lips to move. He was awake and he could see and feel again, but that was not so much a favor when his body was still caught in the iron-fast grip of the curse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt his hands twitch -- not of his own volition, it was followed up by a dozen little other shudders throughout his body. Something was crawling under his skin, slithering between his muscles, gathering from the furthest fingertips and rushing back upwards along his veins towards his head. It was just as well he couldn't move of his own volition, yet, since he would have clawed at his own skin in the horror, the need to get it </span>
  <em>
    <span>out</span>
  </em>
  <span>  of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet -- that was happening anyway, with or without him. He felt the magic course through him, pulled forcefully out of every cell in his body, rushing up and out and -- away, it was going away, passing from his lips to the stranger's, transferred between them through the conduit of the kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last of it came slowly like a wire pulling taut against his heart, thinner and thinner until it finally let go with a final </span>
  <em>
    <span>snap.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  The stranger above him pushed back with a gasp and Molly saw his face for the first time; red-haired, red-cheeked with exertion. The bluest eyes Molly had ever seen in his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With shaking hands the man reached up to his mouth, touching the lips that so recently had been sealed to Molly's, and then dipped inside to take something out -- some sort of shining disk, jet black and steaming faintly in the cool air of the stone chamber. The man groped behind him for a box, fumbled the disk into it, then closed it with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>snap</span>
  </em>
  <span>  that seemed much larger than such a little box ought to have made.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now -- for the first time in far too many minutes -- Molly could breathe again. He sucked in a breath that seemed to take forever to drag through his laboring lungs; a dozen others followed after, too fast and too shallow. Hyperventilating, he was dimly away, but he could do nothing about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Molly... mauk?" The man was kneeling beside him again, raising one hand hesitantly into the line of his vision. His face was rather handsome, Molly observed, when it was not twisted with strenuous emotions. He wore fine clothes, a little loose and rumpled as though he'd been roused out of a blissful slumber for this moment. "Are you with me, Mister Mollymauk?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, at least let me buy you a drink first," Molly heard himself say, and passed out.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly was sleeping. Not passed out in that cold deathlike stasis, but really sleeping, so Jester could finally let herself feel how tired she was. She'd ridden through half the night to get here and her body ached all over. She wanted a hot bath and a soft bed, and if she wheedled Caleb enough he'd probably provide them for her, but not just yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For now she sat on one of the workbenches along the wall, feet swinging in the air, and watched Caleb tidy up his workspace. Her old friend looked tired too; even without being woken up from a sound sleep, channeling that much chaos took a lot out of him. Jester felt a little bad for how much trouble she'd caused him... but she'd never let that stop her curiosity before, and wasn't about to start now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How do you know Molly?" Jester asked at last. She saw Caleb's hands stutter, fumbling the book he was leafing through to let half a dozen pages fly past at once. She'd learned long ago that you could learn a lot more watching Caleb's hands than his face. He was too good at keeping his face flat and unaffected, but his feelings always came out in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I do not know him," Caleb said, and even she could tell he was hedging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But you recognized him, I know you did," Jester said. "You knew his face, but you didn't know his name. Where'd you know him from?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb grimaced, turned away from her to put the book back up on its shelf. "I would prefer not to speak of it," he said shortly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester snorted. He should have known better. "Caleb, you're my friend and I care about you," she said. "But Molly's my friend too, and I don't want anything bad to happen to him. I just want all of my friends to be safe, and safe to be with each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb sighed, and his shoulders slumped. After a minute he turned around and came over to sit at the workbench, near enough to reach out and touch, but still not facing her directly. He stared down at his hands, clasped together, as he spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have lived for a very long time," he began. "There was a time -- a long time ago -- when I was as idealistic as you. I wished to save the world, or at least to improve it -- to do my part to make a difference. There was a time when the means did not matter to me, only the ends. When I was willing to do many things -- many very terrible things -- as long as we achieved our ends. To protect mankind, to eradicate the scourge of monsters that wracked the land -- I would have done anything, to anyone."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't understand," Jester said in a small voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It all ended years before you were born," Caleb said. "The mistrust, the violence, the Purges. You have never lived in a world where men made monsters of little boys, and dug a thousand small graves in the hillside behind cold stone keeps. And I pray that you never will."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester tried to unravel this, fit it into what she knew of Caleb. And of Molly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Purges,</span>
  </em>
  <span>  she'd heard of those before, it was why Molly had nowhere to go back to in the winter any more. "You... were a Witcher?" she said slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb shook his head. "I worked with Witchers, but I was not one," he said. "There was a time when our two guilds worked in concert, but that has long past. I was one of those stationed at  Gorthur Gvaed."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then Molly should remember you too!" Jester exclaimed. Then she frowned. "But... he didn't recognize you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb barked out a short laugh. "I would have been surprised if he did," he said. "And then, probably, I would have been dead."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester halted in dismay. She wanted to protest that Molly wouldn't do that, Molly wouldn't hurt someone; but the truth was that both of her friends had lives that stretched back long before she was even born, history she couldn't even guess at. "I -- I don't know what happened in the past," she said falteringly. "But you saved my friend tonight, so I think you did something pretty good."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb looked down at his hands. Jester slipped off the workbench and stood beside him, put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her, glasses a little askew on his face; she adjusted him. "Thank you, Caleb," she said, and kissed his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then she stretched, letting a jaw-cracking yawn escape her. "I'm going to go take a nap," she said. "You don't mind, do you Caleb?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, of course not," Caleb said softly, looking down again. "Rest well, blueberry. See you in the morning."</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly blinked awake, and immediately his body tensed as he groped for his swords and failed to find them. A defenseless Witcher was a dead Witcher, old Gustav had managed to beat that much into his head his first year on the Path. When his reaching hands encountered nothing but emptiness he sat bolt upright, and stared at his completely unfamiliar surroundings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A round room with stone walls, the interior of some tower. The walls were completely obscured by rows and rows of wooden bookshelves, groaning with the weight of their content. There were so many books that there was hardly room for the shelves and cabinets tucked here and there, in corners and niches too small for another shelf. A sorcerer's workshop, for certain. But Molly didn't know any sorcerers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A moment after his abrupt awakening, it caught up to him: he wasn't in pain. The crushing, burning sensation of the vicious spell he'd been hit with was entirely gone. In fact, not only did he not feel the pain of the spell, he didn't even feel any of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>other</span>
  </em>
  <span>  pain, the background twinges and grinding aches that usually characterized his life even after a good night's sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn't tied down, either. That was two solid positive check marks, even weighed against the absence of his weapons. So Molly was willing to extend a conditional concession of goodwill towards whoever was that sorcerer puttering away at the desk at the other end of a room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sorcerer who was -- surprisingly handsome, now that Molly </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn't</span>
  </em>
  <span>  on death's door and could get a clear look at him. So that was three.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cleared his throat, and the sorcerer jumped like a scalded cat. "Where's Jester?" he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah." The sorcerer put down his stack of books, picked up a small glass bottle and fiddled with it instead. "She had a very long night. She is upstairs, sleeping. Would you like to see her?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly relaxed. The man wouldn't have made the offer if he couldn't have produced Jester on demand. "No, let her rest then," he said. "She's a bear if she doesn't get her beauty sleep, really."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his surprise the man chuckled softly. "I know that well," he said, which led Molly to wondering for the first time </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Jester and this man knew each other. Before he could ask, though, the man leaned forward slightly and asked, "How do you feel?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Confused!" Molly flashed a big grin. "Not in pain! It's honestly kind of novel? I've never woken up in a mage's tower before." He looked around again, finding new details everywhere his eyes wandered. There was actually more space in the tower room beyond that wall-like array of bookshelves, and he was intensely curious as to what was over there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is there anything I can get you?" the sorcerer offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly thought about it for a moment. "Well, whiskey'd be favorite," he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his surprise the sorcerer actually went over to a cabinet and rummaged for a moment, then produced a glass bottle and a tumbler. He brought it over to Mollymauk's bedside and poured him a finger, then took one himself and sat down beside the bed. Sitting down, he was actually just below Molly's eyeline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prudence might have spoken against taking a drink from a stranger; but even if Molly wasn't outright immune to most drugs and poison, the sorcerer had had plenty of opportunity to do things to him while he was out. Molly took a sniff of his glass, raising a brow at the heady combination of scents that floated up from it: cedar and caramel, smoke and sunlight. "Oh, this is the good stuff," he purred, then took a shot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It burned nicely in his mouth and throat, but there was something -- Molly pulled back, and took another, deeper sniff. "Hang on... there's no actual alcohol in this." He looked up at the sorcerer with an expression of outraged betrayal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man had the audacity to smile. "No, there is not," he said. "You have just experienced a major system shock and need time to recover before you tax it with more poisons."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You could have just said 'no' when I asked for whiskey, then," Molly sulked, but he finished off the glass anyway. It was still good, and helped clear the foul taste that lingered in his mouth and throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But you are a guest," the sorcerer said simply. "A host must provide anything the guest wishes."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Anything?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Mollymauk thought. A man could do a lot with an opening like that. Aloud he said, "You're a strange man, Mister..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Widogast," the man supplied as Molly trailed off invitingly. "Caleb Widogast."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And I'm Mollymauk Tealeaf," Molly said, holding out his hand with a charming, confident smile. This was always a bit of a coin toss; fifty/fifty that humans would refuse to touch the hand of a tiefling, or a witcher, or both. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Caleb took the hand and shook it, even while refusing to meet Molly's eyes. Well, some people were funny like that. "I know," Caleb said, and it took Molly a moment to remember what he was responding to. His name, oh yes. "Your friend told me your name last night."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did she?" Molly's smile became warmer, fonder. "Ah, dear Jester..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She is a good friend," Caleb said, releasing his hand after a long lingering moment. "You are lucky to have her."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She sure is," Molly said, and that just reminded him of his earlier curiosity. "Say, how do you know Jester, anyway?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb coughed. "Ah, well, that is a funny story..." He trailed off, and Molly nodded encouragingly. Jester stories usually were. "Actually, we met in jail."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In </span>
  <em>
    <span>jail?!" </span>
  </em>
  <span>Molly boggled, then wondered why he was surprised. Knowing Jester, it was only remarkable that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn't</span>
  </em>
  <span>  end up in jail more often than she did. "What'd she do that time?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Actually, you have the back end of the stick," Caleb said, which wasn't quite the saying, but who was Molly to correct him. "The one in jail at the time was me. Jester was just passing through... but she was kind enough to have pity on my rather wretched self, and broke me out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How did a </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorcerer</span>
  </em>
  <span>  end up in jail?" Molly boggled some more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb shrugged. "Even a sorcerer has to sleep sometime," he said. "Ah... I was acting as court mage to the Duke of Ellander at the time. A number of minor nobles of the court banded together, accusing me of seducing the prince with my wicked magical wiles."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly considered that. "Did you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, yes, but that is not the point," Caleb said testily. "There was no magic involved at all, and I had no political aims other than opposition to wasteful stupidity and blatant corruption. Which was enough to make me many enemies, I suppose," he sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can't see you needing magic to seduce a duke, really." Molly rested his chin on his hand, giving Caleb an admiring up-and-down. "Or anyone. Your pretty blue eyes would do most of the heavy lifting, I'd think."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The charm worked; Caleb blushed, an endearing flush spreading up his face and almost too his hairline. "Ah... wh... thank you, I suppose," he said, fidgeting twice as fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hit, a palpable hit. But instead of coming closer, Caleb abruptly stood up and walked away. Molly frowned after him. He could have sworn he'd smelled interest, but... something else was clouding it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he should tone it down. It wasn't wise to offend a sorcerer under any circumstances, let alone when weaponless in their tower. Not that he thought Caleb would hurt him, but... "Thank you," he said, sitting up and clearing his throat. "For, ah, saving my life? This is a bit weird for me, usually it's the other way around."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"From what I heard, it was a noble act that put you in danger," Caleb said seriously. "You saved that woman's life. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Todeskuss</span>
  </em>
  <span>  is potent and deadly, that was no small sacrifice."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, it's what Witchers do, you know," Molly said modestly. "Protect people from uncanny dangers. It's kind of our job."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mm, well, one normally gets paid for a job," Caleb observed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well... there wasn't really much time to negotiate, but I'm confident that if we go back there they'll manage some token of gratitude," Molly said. "Speaking of which. What do I owe you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a reasonable question, and he didn't expect the sharp "Nothing!" that Caleb snapped out in response. He took a breath, trying visibly to calm down. "You don't owe me anything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wow. Okay. Molly leaned back slightly, trying to figure out what had provoked </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>  reaction. Caleb gave him no further clues, though; his body language still betrayed his agitation as he moved away, fiddling uselessly with things, picking them up only to set them down again. He still did not seem to want to meet Molly's eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mister Caleb, I admit I'm somewhat confused by you," Molly said, keeping his tone mild. He made a great effort to stand up from the cot, straighten down his clothing, look like a presentable person and not a convalescent. "I'd like to be friends."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I do not think that you would," Caleb said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And why not?" Molly shrugged. "A handsome, mysterious, powerful, kind man like yourself becomes my benefactor, why shouldn't I wish to know you better?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb let out a bitter laugh. "I am not nearly so kind as you presume, Mister Mollymauk. And a Witcher ought to know that not all mystery hides good things."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, Jester likes you," Molly pointed out reasonably, "and Jester has pretty good judgment when it comes to people's characters. We can at least spend some time together, yes? Have a proper first meeting."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We have met before," Caleb mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Molly laughed. "I'm sure I would remember someone as striking as you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sure you would not, given the state you were in the first time we met."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly stared at him, the humor draining away. "I don't understand," he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb's fidgeting came to a stop over by the wall, a narrow gap between two shelves that boasted an old, cloudy mirror. Caleb stared into it for a long time; Molly couldn't tell if it was enchanted in some way, or Caleb just didn't know where else to look. When at last he spoke, it was not at all what Molly had been expecting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you remember of your life before you became a Witcher?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly blinked. "What? I... Not much, honestly." It wasn't a topic he'd ever talked much about; other Witchers knew better to ask, and humans didn't care. Most people didn't seem to consider that Witchers had ever been children at all, that they didn't just spawn full-sized and mutated on the mountainside. "A lot of us don't, depending on when we were taken for the training. I always figured I was one of those who was left too young."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No." Caleb's reply was clipped, terse. "When you first came to Gorthur Gvaed, you were not a child at all. You were already fully grown."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly stared at Caleb, eyes wide with shock. "I... I don't understand. That's not possible. The Trials only work on children..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Usually, yes." Caleb's shoulders heaved in a silent sigh. "But that does not mean it was never tried. There were many experiments worked to see if the mutagens could be adapted to adults. And there were many failures. It was only ever successful once."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly looked at his hands, the lavender hue, the dozens of tiny scars that crisscrossed them. Tried to remember if they were ever smaller, softer, smooth. He couldn't imagine it. "Me?" he said at last, voice small. "Are you trying to say that... Me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caleb said nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But if I was an adult before I went to Gorthur Gvaed..." Molly shook his head, denial or disbelief. "Why don't I remember?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am not certain. I only have theories," Caleb said. He seemed to steel himself to some heroic effort, lifted his head, and looked Molly straight in the eyes. His eyes were still so very blue, but dark and troubled. "But I am not surprised that you do not remember </span>
  <em>
    <span>me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mollymauk Tealeaf, because the only time I saw you before tonight, you were dead."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly sat back down on the cot with a thump that nearly overturned it. His blood beat oddly in his ear, the pulse out of time, too fast and shallow for a Witcher's slow heartbeat. He was hyperventilating, he realized, and this time he hadn't even been cursed first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd never been able to remember his childhood. He'd never </span>
  <em>
    <span>tried.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  It was easier to let the past rest in the past than to reach back and find only darkness. No one had ever encouraged him to try, the trainers constantly telling the young Witchers to forget their old lives and dedicate themselves only to the Path. To each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But even the other Viper Witchers had never fully accepted him as one of their own, had they? They weren't cruel but there was always a distance, a wariness in the eyes of the others his age, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fear</span>
  </em>
  <span>  in the eyes of the trainers. He'd always put it down to him being a tiefling, but what if... what if it was something else? What if he was set apart, not only from the rest of mankind, but even from the other outcasts, the mutants? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like they'd all known, even when </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>hadn't known, that he was different. Unnatural. That he shouldn't even be alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands on his shoulders shocked him out of his spiral, and his eyes snapped up to meet Caleb's. The sorcerer looked... </span>
  <em>
    <span>heartbroken</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that was the only word Molly could put to it, spiking with the scent of grief and regret. But his hands were kind, providing points of contact against the cold, the emptiness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I understand this is a lot to take in," Caleb told him gently. "The story is long and tangled, and even I only have part of it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Warm hands -- over-warm, almost, bright like flame -- slid down Molly's arms to take his hands, turn his right hand upwards and place something in his palm. A pewter pendant on a leather thong, the metal soft and untempered. There was a design stamped on it, a serpent -- but not the same one that adorned Molly's amulet. This one was of a snake swallowing its own tail; not poised to strike but self-contained, without beginning or end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You may stay here as long as you wish, to rest and recover," Caleb said quietly. "And you may leave whenever you wish -- I will not stop you. But when you leave, take this with you. I will not press myself upon you, either my presence or my voice. But if you wish to speak again -- if you wish to know all that you can know about your past -- activate this, and I will come to where you are."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Path took Molly far and wide, up one side of the continent and down the other, in beating sun or freezing winter. "Wherever I am?" he croaked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wherever you are," Caleb promised him. "I owe you that much. And much more."</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was midafternoon by the time they got back on the road; the sun slanted down in warm golden sheets over the far western ridge, lighting up the overgrown tower and the young trees around it in gold and green. The big black horse was grazing peacefully in a meadow a little way down the road. From here there was no sign at all that the tower was occupied, or that there was anything special about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By now there probably wasn't much chance of getting back to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nightingale </span>
  </em>
  <span>by nightfall, but that was okay. They'd slept out in the open before, and even if it got cold at night they could always cuddle for warmth. Jester stretched her arms over her head, bounced on her toes, and let out an enormous yawn before she whirled around to beam at Mollymauk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Whew, what a night!" she said, rocking forward to lean against his shoulder and drape her tail over his. "I'm so glad you're okay, Molly, really I am, I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span>  worried. Thank the Traveler that Caleb was able to help you!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly stepped out of the tower and shaded his eyes against the westering sun. At her pronouncement he turned towards her and mustered a smile, although it was wan and weak. He was probably still worn out from nearly dying last night, Jester thought, and resolved not to let him push himself too hard today. "It... wasn't fun," he said. "And don't think I've forgotten that you were the one who carried me on a horse through the dead of night to get help, Jester. I owe you thanks for that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nope!" Jester said brightly. "We're friends, Molly, and that's what friends do! You don't owe me anything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For some reason that made Molly wince, but he rallied. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>One</span>
  </em>
  <span>  thing is still owed," he said, and leaned over to put his arm around Jester and hug her tightly, bumping their horns together. "Thank you, my friend."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester hugged him back, feeling the relief in his solid, reassuring presence, the quarter-time heartbeat and the faint whiff of phosphorus that always hung around his clothes. "But hey! It wasn't all bad!" she proclaimed as the hug ended and she bounced back to her feet. "I mean, you finally got to meet Caleb. He's pretty great, isn't he?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's... something, all right," Molly allowed, his voice carefully casual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's pretty cute, huh? Huh?" Jester bounced around Molly, poking him in the shoulder. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span> he's single, too! I think it's time for a new verse of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>song!"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly winced, more visible this time. "Please don't, Jester."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester pouted. She really thought that Molly and Caleb would get along well; both of her friends were so lonely. Caleb refused to come out of his tower at all most of the time, and Molly walked among crowds every day and was never a moment's less alone. She'd hoped they would find each other, that they'd find something more. She couldn't be </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span>  of their only friends all the time, after all; they needed more than just her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there was no point in trying to argue Molly out of his own loneliness, so instead she said:  "But the song needs a new verse, and there hasn't been a handsome but tragic sorcerer in it yet!" Molly was avoiding her gaze, so Jester came around the other side to look him square in the eye. "He brought you back to life with a kiss! A </span>
  <em>
    <span>kiss!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Look me in the eye and tell me you don't find him at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span>  attractive, Molly, I double dare you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I..." Molly sighed, but he didn't try to tell her that, which was good, because he'd never gotten away with lying to her. Jester grinned. "Just... wait a while before you write anything, please. I'm still not sure..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"All right, if you say so," Jester said, able to be magnanimous now that she'd gotten her way. Or, </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span>  get her way in the end, as she always did eventually. "But if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> smooch the sorcerer again, you have to let me know! I'm your friend, I deserve all the details!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"As soon as I understand what's going on between him and me, you'll be the first to know," Molly said solemnly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They managed to recapture the horse with a bit more of Molly's creepy Witcher mind-magic, and Jester insisted that Molly ride while she walked, at least at first. It felt good for her to stretch her legs and Molly was still weak from nearly dying, even if he wouldn't admit it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them started back along the road, enjoying the warm sunshine and the quiet. At one point Molly twisted around in the saddle to look back over his shoulder at the ruined tower, already almost out of sight behind the screen of trees. He touched a spot high on his chest, just under the collar of his shirt, and then let his hand fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know what, Jester," he said abruptly, and Jester looked up with an inquiring sound. "Let's not go back to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nightingale</span>
  </em>
  <span>  after all."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you sure? They still might pay you for saving that girl," Jester pointed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't need payment," Molly said. "And I don't feel like retracing all the mistakes and tragedies of the past. I'd rather go somewhere new. Make something all entirely new."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you're sure," Jester said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly nodded. "I'm sure," he said, and touched the spot at his throat again. "When I call him again, it will be for the future. Not the past."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together, the bard and the Witcher went down a new road.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>~end.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That's that for now! As usual, I backed away from making any firm commitments about what did actually happen in Mollymauk's past, since in the canon, we still don't know. Not that it would have been exactly the same in this crossover, anyway. I wasn't able to get Caleb and Molly's relationship as far along as I would have liked, since Caleb insists on wallowing in his past failures and Molly just went through a significant trauma -- but the seed is there.</p><p>Jester ended up being more based on Priscilla/Essi Daven rather than Dandelion/Jaskier in this setup, since I thought her personality was a better match to Jester's, and because she too made her fame by writing songs about the love lives of the star Witcher. Also I really love Priscilla and Dandelion's relationship, that they care so much about each other and have so much in common but in a completely platonic way.</p><p>Happy birthday, @CatKing_Catkin, I hope you enjoyed your present!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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